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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328292">hello, i've missed you quite terribly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsrosencrantz/pseuds/itsrosencrantz'>itsrosencrantz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Background Relationships, M/M, Mentions of: exhibitionism and restraints, Modern AU, Orgasm Delay, hinted at Cyril/Lysithea, it's p soft and not at all explicit on either</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:54:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsrosencrantz/pseuds/itsrosencrantz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Work has been slow for Lorenz and busy for Claude, so he's feeling a little... neglected. He decides to tempt his partner into coming home early.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hello, i've missed you quite terribly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written as a secret santa gift for a dear friend of mine in an RP server!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claude's office manager is potentially the most intimidating person Lorenz encounters on his way into the building each time he visits, and he's certainly the most strict about the management of his boss' time. Even Claude himself, devoted as he is to his work - and Lorenz knows few people who push himself as hard as Claude does, consistently and with great heart, because he believes in the work he is doing - has been herded back into his office a time or two by Cyril when the spirit of frivolity attempts to move him. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>Most of the time, Lorenz finds that amusing and encourages it, especially when Claude calls him to half-heartedly complain his way through whatever mountain of work is the wedge between him and freedom. There's something peaceful about having his own airpods in and working on arrangements while Claude rambles his way through untangling the knots of his workday. Lysithea manages the front for him most days, and even though Lorenz does miss the face-to-face interaction with customers, he <em>doesn't</em> miss cashiering and missing texts for hours on end when the shop gets busy and he can't sneak into the back to check his phone. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lately, though, apart from the little bursts for holiday arrangements, business has been slow for Lorenz and picking up steadily for Claude, which has created a rather discouraging deficit in attention.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>This is something that must be rectified as soon as possible, of course. As fond as his partner is of schemes, he thinks that Claude will appreciate this one - a little bit of fun disguised as a perfectly legitimate business delivery. Not even Cyril will be able to argue with it, so he hopes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lorenz took his time putting together an arrangement, because anything worth doing is of course always worth doing well. Most florists pay no mind to the meaning of flowers anymore, and Lorenz has to admit that he has sacrificed ulterior messages for the sake of aesthetic more than once; it's simply good business sense, at the end of the day, though he does find himself wistful at times for the sort of old-fashioned romance involved in seducing someone in the secret language of lovers. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When he'd first come to know Claude, one of the things that had impressed him most had been that Claude had flirted with him for weeks through flowers - with hidden meanings in what he purchased, what he chose to pass back over the counter, the memorable peony he'd leaned over to tuck behind Lorenz's ear when he'd finally asked him to dinner with a soft-eyed smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He's smiling now as he reminisces, his arms banded loosely around long-stemmed roses wrapped in newspaper as the elevator dings for Claude's floor. At the time, he'd been devastated by the sheer volume of purchases that Claude had been making - and Lysithea had not been shy in the least about expressing her long-suffering exasperation with him every time his mood skyrocketed with Claude's presence and then slithered to the depths with the knowledge that he was out there wooing someone else - but now it is a fond memory.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Well, mostly fond. Claude has been dropping in less and less frequently to harass him while he's working, hence the special delivery today.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It had been Lysithea's idea, honestly, and his gratitude has taken the shape today of offering the company card for her to treat herself and Cyril to lunch, and the rest of the day off besides. A small price to pay, really, for unfettered access to Claude for a time, even if the judgment in Cyril's piercing gaze will not be easily forgotten.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She makes a beeline for Cyril, dropping her heavy purse on the desk next to him and announcing her intent for him to go to lunch with her, and Lorenz has to tuck away a smile at the slightly besotted and exasperated look she gets in response. Lysithea truly is a whirlwind, and they are all unworthy of her, at the end of the day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He doesn't bother to knock, because if Claude is in the midst of something he won't hear it, anyhow. Instead, he breezes in and allows himself a moment to enjoy the sight of Claude hard at work: his socked feet up on his desk, one arm flung over his eyes and the other stretched toward the ceiling, fingers alternating between curling around and releasing a well-loved stress ball. Despite his posture, his voice remains steady and attentive, and Lorenz has no doubt that whoever is on the other side of the call believes that they are the singular most important thing on his docket for the day. It's one of Claude's particular talents - most men need the advantage of eye contact, gesture, presence, to command attention so fully in such an underhanded way - but not Claude.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>No one has ever made Lorenz feel as utterly seen, and still dear despite it, as Claude does. Once up on a time, he'd been jealous of anyone who got a taste of that focus, but now, knowing that he is the only one who genuinely enjoys it... he can be nothing but smug.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Because he is working, even if it looks like he is doing anything but, Lorenz remains silent on his way to the desk. He sets the roses down to the side of Claude's second monitor, reaching for his feet and swinging them wide as Claude grins but otherwise doesn't acknowledge him. A smile tugs at Lorenz's lips as Claude shifts tactics, his voice taking on a slightly apologetic cadence as he begins the call wrap up, and Lorenz drops his feet from waist-height. They hit the floor with a soft thump, and Claude lifts his arm finally, raising his eyes to Lorenz as he speaks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"... absolutely. I'll send you an Outlook invite by the end of the day, and we'll make it happen. ... Yeah. Yeah, you too. Hey, Lorenz. How'd you get past Cyril?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He reaches up to unbutton his jacket, quirking one eyebrow as he shrugs it off and hangs it on the coat rack. "Would you like me to leave?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"<em>Not</em> what I said." Claude tosses the star-shaped ball onto his desk, where it rolls a couple inches and settles. "I've been due for a break for about an hour. Are these for me? Aw."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There's a genuine rush of affection when Claude picks up the roses and buries his face in them, enjoyment sincere even though his interest in flowers begins and ends with acknowledging their importance to Lorenz's life. Neither of their homes is ever lacking for fresh flowers, as his garden is a point of pride and joy for Lorenz, but he knows for a fact that Claude keeps flowers on his own table as well now. It started as a joke on his end, Lorenz is sure - buying the florist flowers - but in the end, he was hoist with his own petard. He'd confessed to Lorenz not long into their relationship that not having flowers around felt lonely, and he'd been able to read between the lines as to what it meant.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>I miss you, too</em>, he'd told him, burying the words in a kiss. <em>Look at flowers and think of me, and then come visit me</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lorenz wants to wrap him in the sort of love and consideration that he's always given and never let him go. A fine first step to that would be always coming home to one another, he thinks. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Anymore, Claude spends more nights sprawled over Lorenz's bedsheets than his own, and it has become a waiting game: waiting for Claude's lease to run out, for either of them to acknowledge the steady build of toiletries that began with a spare toothbrush and now has bloomed into hair gels, shaving cream, the particular straight-edge razor that Claude favors all getting shoved up beside Lorenz's rose water treatments and creams. Little by little, by unspoken agreement, they have moved in together in everything but name.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You've been working very hard," he agrees, angling his head. His hair spills over his shoulder, and Claude's eyes are drawn to it briefly. "Another late night tonight?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Claude sets the flowers aside. "It's looking like it. You've got inventory tonight, though, right? I was just going to head back to mine."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>His nose wrinkles. "I've decided to take the evening off; inventory will wait for me until tomorrow. I was hoping to persuade you to do the same."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Interest sharpens Claude's gaze. "Oh yeah? I'm not opposed. Gonna sneak me out the window?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Cyril's not that frightening." Lorenz rolls his eyes. "And as it stands, he is out to lunch with Lysithea right now. I have... an hour or so, by my estimation? To convince you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He leans forward slightly, smile curving into a smirk, as he cycles through the modes on Claude's phone until he hits <em>unavailable</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And I'm a very persuasive man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He swings one leg wide over Claude's lap, settling with twice the confidence he feels, considering it is the first time he's done something like <em>this</em>. Claude's hands find his thighs immediately, fingers splayed wide but his grip loose, and Lorenz braces himself with one hand at his shoulder and a stern look. Claude's fingers are already on the move, sliding subtly against his slacks and crawling upward, because he is an incorrigible man. The look on his face is unabashed and open, too; between them, they've moved past the need for shyness or subterfuge, and one of the most powerful things about his relationship with Claude is how much they both <em>want</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's what got them in this predicament to begin with. Lorenz has grown accustomed to the dip in the mattress of another body beside him, to reaching in the middle of the night and finding warmth, to waking to eager arms and the sleep-soft rumble of Claude's voice pulled from his chest and stretched soft and loose in the hush of the early morning. No matter how noble his pursuits have been as of late - and Lorenz is <em>proud</em> of him, make no mistake, to the point that his chest aches with it at times - there is no denying that he misses the quiet moments between them. More than he might otherwise, knowing that if they lived together he could have his cake and eat it too, as they could both work as hard as they needed and it would be guaranteed that they would come home to one another at the end of every night. Commute wouldn't keep half of Lorenz's bed cold or deprive Claude's closet of his stylish peacoat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"This is exactly why I don't have arm rests on my chair." Tone appreciative, Claude curves his hands around Lorenz's ass and tries to urge him closer, but Lorenz shifts all his weight back and against his thighs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>His hands seek the buttons of  Claude's shirt, deftly unfastening them, and he clucks his tongue. "Hands to yourself, von Riegan. You're at my mercy at the moment, and if you don't behave, there will be consequences."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You <em>are</em> in some kind of mood today," Claude marvels, and obediently releases him, tipping his head back to observe Lorenz with a little half-curl of a smile. It ignites his chest, an oil-slick inferno crawling down to his gut and simmering, flooding his throat, his arms, down to his fingertips. "All right. I concede the floor."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lorenz tuts. "You always have to make it your idea, don't you?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I have good ideas-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He tugs Claude's shirt free, twisting it around his fists until its pulled taut and he has the leverage necessary to both slide it down over Claude's shoulders and keep his arms relatively close to his body. It's not a restraint by any means - yet - but judging by the flash in Claude's eyes, he wouldn't mind if it was. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"-but this one is mine." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He drags his nails down the front of Claude's chest, pressure just enough for a whisper of sound but leaving no marks; Claude's ribs flare with a sharp intake of breath when the edge of his pinky nail graze a nipple, but Lorenz cuts a relentless path to the waistband of his pants. He stops there, curling his fingers inward and hooking them, two knuckles pressed against warm skin as he rubs his thumb over the button.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm cross with you, you know." He teases the button with his nail, flirting with the buttonhole but not quite pressing it through. Despite his words, there's no real upset to his tone, though, and he sees Claude's arms jerk as though he wants to reach for him but he stops himself at the last moment. "You've been very negligent lately."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He leans in, mouth brushing the shell of Claude's ear. "I've woken up hard and had to get myself off <em>twice</em> this week because you weren't in my bed."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Claude's laugh tumbles down his chest, tapering into a groan as Lorenz bites down on his ear. "Is that what this is about? Because honestly, this is not - this doesn't feel like punishment, per se-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Making me come all this way," he continues, talking over the top of Claude as he drags his zipper down and then slides his hand into his pants, palming him idly, "to beg for attention?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sits back on Claude's thighs, the flush on his own neck mirrored in the one crawling down his boyfriend's chest. The angle he's working is restrictive, the teeth of his zipper rubbing the sensitive skin on the outside of his wrist raw and angry, but it's worth it for the beautiful portrait of want he makes beneath him: Claude's head tipped back, mouth slightly open and teasing into a smirk, his shoulders still loose but far from relaxed. By now, Lorenz knows all his tells; by now, he knows that Claude's fingers are itching to tangle in something, anything, that sitting still and letting Lorenz slowly, maddeningly run his hand up and down the length of him to tease him to hardness without being able to do anything in return is going to drive him mad sooner than he wants to admit. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But Claude's stubborn, too, and Lorenz also knows this about him. Even as he fills in Lorenz's hand, praise tumbling from his mouth to fill the silence between them because if he can't touch he has to at least do something, Lorenz knows that he enjoys the constraints - real and imagined - as much as Lorenz enjoys watching desire cloud the sharpness of his eyes. With one hand, he pushes Claude's bangs away from his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp lightly, and with the other, he swipes his thumb through the precum beading at the tip of his cock.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Is that what you're doing?" Claude's hips hitch upward, an involuntary little jerk, and Lorenz twists his fingers in the soft waves of his hair; it's a gentle warning. "Because I'm into it. It's very, ah, sexy, a nice reversal on the usual method-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He bites his lip, drawing it into his mouth, and is gratified by the way Claude's eyes immediately move to his mouth. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The usual method?" He draws a delicious sound out of Claude with a quick, unexpected twist of his hand. "Did you expect me to flutter my lashes and plead with you? Prostrate myself? Where is the dignity in that?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Before Claude can answer, Lorenz leans in and takes his mouth in a firm, demanding kiss. His hair swings forward and tickles Claude's chest - he knows because of the way that he jumps, and it makes a laugh bubble up in his chest and catch there, swelling wide - and he kisses him until he feels Claude's hands at his hips, fingers digging in and and thumbs rubbing little circles against his slacks. When he pulls back, Claude tries to chase his mouth, but holds fast to his hair with one hand and presses the other against his chest, pinning him in place and smudging his chest just a little with evidence of his own arousal. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Claude, didn't I say that you needed to keep your hands to yourself?" He sighs, and Claude fits his hands to the base of his chair, somehow managing to look apologetic and completely unabashed all at once. "Don't give me that look."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's just my face," he counters. "I'll behave. Promise."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lorenz trails his fingertips lightly over Claude's face, watching his eyes flutter shut and smiling when he turns his head to kiss his fingertips on the pass. He's glad that Claude knows this is a game - mostly a game; he does miss him, but the energy between them is playful, not condemnatory. Taking advantage of his closed eyes, Lorenz presses another soft kiss to his mouth, nails combing through the soft, tight curls on his chest as he pets his way down over the taut muscles of his stomach and through the trail of hair that disappears into the open vee of his slacks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mouth against Claude's jaw, he shifts a little in his lap, ignoring the tight press against his own zipper in favor of slicking his palm with precum and pumping at a steady, even pace. He can feel Claude's breath against his cheek, the staccato-sharp puffs of warmth that he can't quite subdue. Lorenz knows how to drive him mad in a matter of minutes, just as he knows how to draw it out for far longer than either of them has the patience for. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If he were keeping score (and sometimes he is; sometimes Claude is, too) he would call this payback for a week ago when Claude came into the shop and sweet-talked his way into the backroom, distracting Lorenz with his hands and his mouth and slowly, painstakingly took him apart with the door to the main floor cracked open. Lorenz had muffled his moans in Claude's palm, remembers tears in the corners of his eyes from the sheer frustration of keeping quiet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>(He hadn't succeeded. Claude had waltzed out of the shop with a spring in his step and Lorenz had been dressed down so thoroughly by his own employee that he'd considered calling in sick the next day.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Now, though, he is the one pulling little whimpers from Claude's lips despite his best efforts; he is running his teeth over the stubble on his chin and feeling the heat roll off Claude's bare chest as each breath he pulls becomes shorter and his back begins to arch. "I've missed you," he murmurs, nipping lightly. "Come over tonight. Stay." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The chair squeaks as Claude shifts again, pushing up harder into Lorenz's hand, and he breathes, "Yeah. Work can survive. I'm - convinced."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lorenz stills his hand entirely, smile pressed into Claude's neck. "Oh? In that case..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He starts to slide off Claude's lap. The chair squeaks as Claude pitches forward, reaching for him, but Lorenz gently pushes his hands away with a laugh. "<em>In that case</em>, I look forward to seeing you tonight. We can finish what we've started here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Amid Claude's sputtering protests, Lorenz tugs his shirt back up over his shoulders, but he leaves it to hang loosely closed over his chest. He doesn't attempt the buttons (and he won't admit that, if he did, he might be tempted to linger - might be tempted to resettle himself on his lap and relieve some of the ache that's twisting so incessant and sweetly in his own gut) and instead reaches for his coat, putting his arms through the sleeves and buttoning it with precise, unhurried movements. It hits at his knees by design; apart from the flush lingering on his face, anyone would be hard-pressed to find evidence of his indiscretion if they were not aware of what had just transpired.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Fingers at his throat, he arches a brow and smiles. "Don't forget to put your roses in water. And don't be late - I will start without you if I need to."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"<em>Lorenz</em>. You're killing me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>His gaze sweeps over Claude, mouth curling in satisfaction at the way he's left him. It's a pretty sight, and one he's loathe to leave, but if there is one thing Lorenz won't do, it's ruin a perfectly scripted exit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>On his way out, he smiles at Cyril. "I hope you had a nice lunch."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>*</p>
</div><div>
  <p>That evening, Lorenz stretches languorously beneath him as Claude collapses on top of his chest, sated and spent. He glides his fingertips up the length of Claude's spine, imagining the shapes he draws in the sweat on his skin, and smiles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Against his throat, Claude presses an open-mouthed kiss, and follows it with a murmured, "I want to move in."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lorenz laughs, winding his arms around his shoulders and tangling their legs together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's about time."</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come talk to me on twitter at itsrosencrantz. i'm gay and like friends!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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